


Full Circle

by Winter_of_our_Discontent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Loves Pie, First Kiss, First Time, Fluffy until it's not, M/M, Pi Day, UST that becomes RST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_of_our_Discontent/pseuds/Winter_of_our_Discontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“C’mon," Dean said, "You gotta try pie, Cas, it’s like… the whole point of being human.”</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes. “Right, Dean. Forget the collected works of Shakespeare. The Taj Mahal. Baked goods are way more important.”</p><p>Dean didn’t look up from where he was delicately shaving curls of vanilla ice cream off the frozen block and onto the plates with a fragile plastic spoon. “Dude, talk to me when Hamlet comes in a delicious flaky buttery crust.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

“Shit, Sam, almost forgot,” Dean said, and swung the car wheel violently to the right, taking them down a side street Sam hadn’t previously noticed.

Sam grabbed the side of the car to stop from sliding across the bench seat. “Dean, what the hell? What are we missing? Salt? Ammo? I thought we’d already killed everything.”

Dean parked, slightly less violently, on one of the quaint little side streets of the quaint little town in Michigan that had been suffering from a quaint little _nain rouge_ infestation. “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” he said, and slammed the door behind him.

He returned a few minutes later carrying a large paper bag with twisted paper handles, which he carefully wedged into the foot well in the backseat before climbing back into the front. “Okay, now we’re set.”

“Seriously, what the hell?” Sam asked, annoyed. “I thought someone was dying.”

“It’s Pi Day, okay?” Dean said, matter of fact.

“Pie day?”

“PI Day,” Dean said, over-enunciating. “Pee. Eye. No ‘Eee.’ And to think you went to Stanford.” He shook his head in mock regret.

“Pi Day,” Sam echoed skeptically.

“It’s March fourteenth, ergo, three point one four, ergo Pi, ergo pie, ergo the deliciousness in the backseat,” Dean explained, jerking a thumb in the direction of the pastry.

“ _You_ celebrate a day inspired by a mathematical concept?”

“Shut up or I’m keeping the French Silk in the back for myself.”

Sam shut up.

Once they’d gotten back to their motel room, Dean made a production out of gently lifting the pies from the bag, then carefully arranging them on the tiny table that barely fit one Winchester, let alone two. First came an apple pie, then the promised French Silk, then a blueberry…

“Three pies, Dean?” Because while Dean’s capacity for pie consumption was practically his own supernatural ability, this was pushing it a bit even for him.

“Oh, yeah, wait, two birds…” Dean said, and assumed an attitude that could have been described as reverent, provided the viewer was squinting or drunk. “Castiel, Angel of the Lord, if you’re not in the middle of anything, can you get your ass down here? And bring a pint of vanilla ice cream. The kind with the little vanilla bean flecks, because Sammy is picky. Amen.”

Just because Sam actually cared about what sort of foods he was putting in his body, Sam thought, annoyed, before his brain caught up with the rest of the prayer. “Did you seriously just dial up an angel for ice cream?” he asked rhetorically.

“I am not your delivery man,” a gravelly voice said behind him, before thrusting a thin plastic bag containing a carton of ice cream at Dean.

“No,” Dean said, accepting the offering gracefully, because Sam’s brother had been replaced by Martha freaking Stewart, “You’re our _guest_ , the _polite_ kind who brings food for Pi Day.”

“Pi Day?” Castiel asked, having apparently exchanged annoyance for confusion. He looked to Sam, who shrugged. Dean had invited him, that meant he was in charge of explaining a completely made up holiday to the angel.

“Okay, so you know Pi, like the circumference of a circle?” Dean said, drawing tiny circles in the air with his index finger.

“The mathematical constant measuring three point one four one five...” Castiel said, his head moving in slow rotations following the motions of Dean’s finger, “nine two six five three five nine…”

“Yeah, that,” Sam interrupted, afraid they’d be here all day if he didn’t. He had no idea how many digits of Pi angels could reach, and he was honestly alright with continuing to lack that knowledge. “It’s a pun.”

“See, today’s date is also the first three digits of Pi, and ‘Pi the number’ _sounds_ like ‘pie the delicious pastry,’ so we celebrate today by eating pie," Dean said happily, gesturing at the table, almost bowing under the weight of its bounty.

“I see,” said Cas, sporting his best _I will never understand the humans_ non-expression, complete with head tilt. Or maybe it was just an _I will never understand Dean Winchester_ expression, in which case he could join the club.

“C’mon, you gotta try pie, Cas, it’s like… the whole point of being human.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Right, Dean. Forget the collected works of Shakespeare. The Taj Mahal. Baked goods are _way_ more important.”

Dean didn’t look up from where he was delicately shaving curls of vanilla ice cream off the frozen block and onto the plates with a fragile plastic spoon. “Dude, talk to me when _Hamlet_ comes in a delicious flaky buttery crust.”

He handed a paper plate overloaded with French Silk, ice cream, and a precipitously perched fork to Sam before turning back to Cas. “So I got the apple pie for me, the French Silk is Sammy’s because he’s a big girl who likes chocolate, and I didn’t know your favorite but you look like a blueberry sort of guy to me.”

“I have never had pie.”

Dean held out a plate with a slice of the aforementioned blueberry. “Yeah, kinda figured, which is why you have to try mine and Sam’s too.”

“Angels do not eat.”

“Don’t or can’t?”

“Don…” and quicker than Sam would have credited, Dean had shoved a forkful of vanilla and pie mush into Castiel’s mouth.

“Used to do that with Sammy too,” Dean said proudly as Cas chewed. “Though that was usually carrots. See, it’s good, right? The vanilla ice cream makes fruit pies extra awesome.” He added, sounding almost vulnerable, “If you really don’t like it…” and then the usual Winchester swagger was back. “Well, more for us.”

Cas swallowed, finally, because angels were apparently unused to chewing. “I would be honored to share food with you, Dean, Sam,” he said gravely, as though agreeing to something far greater and more Old Testament than just indulging in Dean’s pastry addiction.

The room settled into a peaceful quiet as they all ate; Sam in one of the room’s two chairs, Dean seated on the edge of the bed, and Castiel still standing. Well, quiet except for Dean, who was as usual eating his pie in a way that made Sam glad they weren’t in public.

“Seriously, Dean? It’s pie, dude, not a _Casa Erotica_ special. Tone it down a bit before the neighbors complain.”

“Shut your face, it’s _really good_ pie,” Dean replied. “Try some of this one, Cas.” He shoved his loaded fork towards Cas, who stared at it for a moment before leaning forward and opening his mouth to accept the offering. It reminded Sam of an overly cautious baby bird. “So which is your favorite?”

“I believe I prefer the blueberry.”

“See, called it!” Dean said, pumping his empty fork in the air. “I am like the Pie Whisperer.”

“How does this resemble _Casa Erotica_ , Sam?” Castiel asked. “Are you expecting a pizza delivery?” Because this was somehow Sam’s life: fighting monsters and explaining porn to angels of the Lord. He looked to Dean because this was clearly somehow his fault, but Dean had defensively shoved a large chunk of apple into his mouth and currently resembled a very happy chipmunk.

Sam sighed. “Because Dean over here always makes faces and starts moaning like a porn star when he eats pie.”

“So the manner in which Dean consumes pie resembles his enjoyment of fornication?”

“Yes,” said Sam. “No,” said Dean.

Castiel said nothing, but began to surreptitiously sneak glances at Dean as he continued making oral love to the baked goods. Apparently between smiting and being non-corporeal, angels did not get much practice at being subtle, though they were Olympic level creepy starers.

After a few minutes of this, Sam threw his empty plate in the trash and stood. Between the awkwardness of listening to Dean moan and the awkwardness of watching Castiel watch Dean moan, he was so very done. “Well, that was delicious. Thank you, Dean. I’m just going to go walk this off.” He grabbed his jacket and bolted out the door.

***

“What was that about?” Dean asked, looking up at Cas. Who was staring at him intently. Which, hey, not that weird for Cas, though usually he was looking more at Dean’s eyes. “Cas?”

“Perhaps he was full,” Cas finally replied, not taking his eyes off Dean’s mouth.

“Is there pie on my face or somethin’?” Dean asked, reaching a thumb up to wipe at the side of his mouth.

“There is…” Cas stepped forward into the vee between Dean’s open legs, which also happened to be way inside his personal space bubble. “...your mouth,” he said, placing one hand under Dean’s chin and lifting it up gently until Dean’s eyes met his own. He curled his fingers, smoothing his thumb slowly across Dean’s slightly parted lips. Dean could taste a hint of pie filling as Cas’ thumb dipped into his mouth, and opened wider, wrapping his tongue around the finger and sucking gently. With his head still held in place, he couldn’t miss the way Cas’ eyes widened and then narrowed as Dean let out a tiny involuntary moan.

Cas pulled his hand away, and Dean let out a completely manly whimper at the loss. “You, uh, you should try the French Silk. It’s, uhm, it’s pretty good too.”

“True,” and fuck if Cas’ voice hadn’t somehow gone even lower. Dean fought the urge to move his legs. Instead he watched as Cas speared a forkful of pie with the same ruthless economy of motion he’d seen him use in battle.

Cas lifted the chocolate mousse to his mouth. “You haven’t tried it yet either, Dean,” he said, and moved the fork back down, holding it a few inches in front of Dean’s face.

Dean’s eyes flickered between Castiel’s face and the fork as he made his decision. He opened his mouth.

Cas gently slid the plastic fork into Dean’s mouth, then carefully pulled it out from between his closed lips. He turned and set the empty fork down in the pie tin before moving back in front of Dean, close enough that Dean could feel the warmth Cas always seemed to radiate.

Cas cradled Dean’s head in his hands and leaned in. “There is a relevant phrase, I believe. Two birds, one stone.” And then his lips were on him, Cas’ tongue pushing insistently inside to taste the mingled flavors of chocolate and apples and _Dean Winchester_ , all mixed up together, and for his part Dean couldn’t have said what he was tasting anymore but it was his new favorite flavor and he wanted more of it and he wanted it yesterday.

Dean grabbed two fistfuls of Cas’ stupid, sexy trenchcoat and _pulled_ , twisting his body so that they both ended up sprawled on the bed behind him, Dean’s leg slotted between the angel’s.

Dean pressed his forehead pressed against Cas’, their mouths close enough for breath to mingle. “Blueberry still your favorite?” Dean asked, voice heavy and uneven.

Cas’s fingers latched onto Dean’s belt loops, pulling their bodies tightly in line with each other as his hips rolled upward. “I may have found a new one. Further exploration will be necessary.”

“I freakin’ _love_ Pi Day,” Dean murmured, and immediately got to work with that exploration.

Much, much later, after the rest of the pie had vanished along with their clothing and the lightbulbs exploding meant they hadn’t had to actually turn out the lights which was really pretty freakin’ handy, because he was completely wiped, and after his and Cas’ bodies were pressed together in the relative darkness in a manner that resembled but was definitely not a cuddle and in which Dean was absolutely not the little spoon because he just didn’t do that kinda thing, Dean heard, as though from very far away, the sound of the motel room door opening.

Heh. Sammy still screamed like a girl.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if it's slightly rougher than usual, yesterday the muse bit hard enough to bruise, and I ended up starting and writing almost all of this Pi Day fic on Pi Day. (I did my best to have the entire thing done on Pi Day, but did not *quite* make it. I did, however, eat a fuckton of pie, so there's that.)
> 
> Sincere and earnest thanks to ReluctantAbandon, who was not only willing to do an emergency beta, but also figuratively held my hand for much of this story. Without her, it would probably not exist, and it would definitely not be as good. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Should you be so inclined, I can be found on tumblr at bamfinacuddlyjumper.
> 
> Love and pie to you all!


End file.
